Hope Dies Last
by White Light White Heat
Summary: Bruce has always been an optimist at heart. There have been times in his life where he almost lost hope, but it always lay dormant beneath the surface. The thing is, sometimes hope can only get you so far before you just need to let go and move on. Can Tony and the Avengers help Bruce move on, or will he be lost to them? Trigger warning. This is my first story so be gentle(;
1. Prologue

**A/N **This is my very first piece of fanfiction, so I would very much appreciate feedback. I am happy to hear constructive criticism or any suggestions:)  
This story may be triggering to some. Contains cannon suicide attempt and some discussion of suicide in later chapters (this is not the focus of the story), as well as other grown up topics.

Enjoy the story!

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_Tony was on his way down to Bruce's lab, ready to entice, or if that didn't work, force his friend to lunch. Tony had just been working on a new interface system for his suit when a jolt of pain in his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten for over sixteen hours. With Pepper being away Tony could get lost in his work for days at a time without interruption. Much to the detriment of his health. He was well aware that Bruce was just the same. Obsession and genius usually went hand in hand. So that was why Tony, the philanthropist that he is, decided to drag the good doctor out to fill his stomach._

_Bruce had been losing weight recently, but Tony wasn't overly concerned about that. He wasn't on the verge of death so he was probably alright in that respect. What did have the billionaire concerned was the slow but sure change in Brucey boy's temperament over the past few months. At first when Bruce came to live in Stark tower, after the whole Aldrich Killian debacle which apparently made Bruce decide that his need for companionship outweighed his fear of staying in one place for more than a few weeks, he seemed happy. He spent a few weeks hanging out with the team, Steve being a fellow resident of the tower and the others dropping in and out as they pleased. He had spent a few weeks getting acquainted with his new lab and high-tech equipment, doing lots of little experiments often resulting in not so little breakthroughs._

_Things had started to change, just a little, when Bruce had turned his focus to fixing himself. After Loki it had seemed that he was almost ready to accept the other guy. With the right facilities and the enthusiasm garnered by being in a lab again, Bruce just couldn't resist. His optimistic side drove him forward, desperately believing that he could find a cure for his condition and actually go back to being happy again. Tony had given up the idea of trying to make him stop, deciding that Dr Banner just needed to work it out of his system. He was beginning to think he might be wrong, which was something Tony rarely felt. Bruce was not progressing very well, and as time past he became more withdrawn. He seemed depressed and on edge sometimes, then, more alarmingly, he often seemed distant, with this strange yet false air of happiness around him that Tony was sure was all for show, and something else he couldn't pinpoint and didn't want to. The mood swings were unnerving to say the least. Bruce was still joining him in joint research projects from time to time, but much less than he used to._

_Tony had arrived outside Bruce's lab. He entered totally unannounced as usual. This was how he came to find his friend, his science bro, slumped against a cupboard on the floor, seemingly unconscious, with a needle sticking out of his arm._


	2. Chapter 1

_**"As world falls, disintegrating into dust **_

_**hope will not perish, yet it must" - Unknown poet**_

Bruce Banner was, against all logic, was an optimist at heart. A somewhat cynical and sardonic one, but an optimist nonetheless. Yes he had suffered at the hands of his father, leading ultimately to tragedy. Bruce chose to remember not the pain, but the determination to be free of pain. As his tumultuous childhood faded into memory and Bruce grew into a brilliant young man, the optimist in him knew that it was easy sailing from here on out. He was entering college, a wonderful part of his life filled with discovery, top grades and most importantly, people who he truly connected with. His rational mind knew of course that happiness was no guarantee. This did not hinder his enthusiasm. For years his life lived up to the promise of his dream. His professors adored him. His peers admired him. As an unexpected bonus, he found that women were drawn to his witty, sarcastic charm and quite confidence.

Somewhere beneath the surface, anger was quietly bubbling away. For a long time he didn't really notice it. It lay in the background, like the dull ache of an almost healed injury, showing itself only in the occasional biting remark or seething glare, always catching the recipients off guard. As the young genius made the unusually swift transition from student to researcher, he felt the anger start to boil. Long sleepless nights filled fueled by caffeine and obsession left the now Dr Banner edge. His focus narrowed until he could no longer see the world outside of a laboratory, outside of radiation. Through the frustration, the rages that was visible in the multiple broken bits of furniture in the one room apartment he inhabited only once a week or so, optimism still prevailed. He was close to something. He could feel it.

Then he met her. Bruce was recruited to work on a top-secret government project, using his expertise to recreate an old experiment involving a young soldier named Steve Rodgers. He was sure that the answer lay in Gamma Radiation. More important than any of that was a beautiful, intelligent, kind-hearted woman named Betty Ross. Betty was the daughter of a General 'Thunderbolt' Ross. He and Bruce had never much cared for each other. Bruce and Betty however were quickly falling for each other. With Betty in the picture, that simmering rage began to fade into the background once more.

Between his quickly advancing research and his beloved Betty, Bruce had never been so content. The optimist in him knew that it would last forever. His rational mind told him that you cannot know the future. Optimism combined with an excess of joy can result in recklessness. Bruce ignored his rational mind. Bruce had no boundaries. There was nothing that he could not achieve. He was a genius after all. This is what led to Bruce staring up at a looming machine ready to transform him into a super soldier.

After the accident, Bruce became desperate. He became angry again. Angry at himself and angry at the world. He learned quickly and painfully that he had to let go of everything he loved. He went into hiding, doing what he could for work in whatever third world country he found himself in. Bruce was devastated and alone, but still, the optimist in him won out. He learnt how to control it. Yoga, breathing techniques. He suppressed the rage. All the while he searched for a cure. He knew there was a way. He knew it. There were times when it got to be too much for him. Living constantly on the run was not exactly a low stress life style. There were times when he lost control. He didn't like to think about those he had hurt Those he had killed. It was these times that he redoubled his search for a cure and thanked the powers that be fr his single minded focus and obsessive tendencies. He didn't have time to dwell on the guilt and building sense of self loathing. He didn't have time to get angry.

Then came Harlem.

He had found it. He knew he had. Well, he hadn't known for sure. He made a point of being cautious, trying to lean from past mistakes. But the optimist in him knew that he was saved. He had found a cure. All he had to do was go to New York. So he went. He went and he found his beloved Betty once more. Once more, he feels his anger melt away in her presence. Even when they are almost caught and almost killed, saved only by the appearance of the other guy, he still continues to believe in a better tomorrow. He met up with the man who could save him. When he finds out that the man wants to use his blood for research his rational mind tells him to turn and run. His hope quiets his concern. When it seems that the procedure worked, Bruce feels his heart soar. He feels all the anger, all the pain dissipate into the atmosphere like warm breath in the dead of winter. Even when he is caught by General Ross, he knows that things will end well.

Then came Harlem. Or more importantly, the giant monster that was tearing it apart. He knew that there was nothing else he could do. He knew that he was the only one who could help. As he jumped out of that helicopter, taking one last look, for whatever happened he knew he would not see her again, at his beloved Betty, a thousand thoughts swam through his head. The ones that stuck with him the longest though were the conflicting thoughts of his optimistic self. On the one hand, the optimist wished to live for hope that there would be a better tomorrow. On the other hand, the optimist wished to die, knowing that living meant the cure hadn't worked. When he woke up somewhere in British Columbia as Bruce Banner, the other guy dormant somewhere in the back of his mind, something in him was missing. Dead.

He had come so close and yet he had failed. Bruce had been used, manipulated and hurt. His poisoned blood had led to who knows how many deaths. He was alone, on the run, never to see Betty again. He had spent so long holding onto hope. The optimist in him had led to his accident. Had led to New York. Had led to this. They say that hope dies last. Sometimes it seems, it dies too late.


	3. Chapter 2

The next few years blurred together. Bruce worked when he could. Ate when he could. He continued meditation, attempting to suppress that rage within him, directed entirely at himself. His optimistic self would have once told the haggard doctor that there will come a time when he will be OK again. That part of him was gone. His rational mind told him that there was no end. This was his life. Living day-to-day attempting to avoid becoming a raging monster of death. There were times when he couldn't succeed and innocent people paid the price. He hated himself. He deserved nothing more than death. So it was that he gotten hold of a gun and bullets, ready to end it all.

He had sat alone in a room in an abandoned apartment complex in a ghetto of Cape Town, South Africa, with a loaded revolver in his hands. The metal of the gun felt cool and soothing against his skin. He wondered not for the first time; how had it come to this? His chest tightened and his stomach lurched. Bruce fought uselessly to suppress a sob.. Tears streamed silently down his face. He was a genius. He had overcome so much. Had so much potential to change the world. There he was, hungry, dirty and pathetic, huddled in a corner with a gun in his hand, trying to work up the courage to end his own life. He told himself that he would save lives by taking his. He knew that this was what he deserved for the pain he had inflicted. He placed the barrel of the gun in his mouth.

When he woke up, he was in Zimbabwe, with no trace of humans anywhere in sight. He laid on the hard ground, under the harsh sun, for almost a day. He was empty. He was nothing. When he finally came out of the haze of numbness created by the realization of his failed suicide, he could hardly walk under the crushing weight of his own depression. The only thing that spurred him on to find the nearest village was the knowledge that the other guy would rear his head before Bruce managed to die of dehydration. It seemed that some part of his old optimistic self had carried on. It had allowed him to hope for death. It had allowed him to believe in a better world; the one he was no longer apart of.

Bruce moved on to South America. He did the bare minimum he had to for the sake of survival, but by no means was he a healthy man. Somewhere in that background was the ever-present buzz of his looming anger. Anger toward himself. Anger toward hope. He was tired of yoga and meditation. On the streets of Argentina, he had sought out something new to suppress the anger and the pain. It hadn't been hard to find. The first time Bruce got high he was in an alleyway, due to the fact that he had not had a place to stay at that time. He went out of his way to find a clean needle and thankfully the dealer he had purchased from had alcohol swabs. He also went to great lengths to safely dispose of the needle afterwards, some time after he had sobered up enough to stand.

Bruce refused to drink alcohol because he knew that only led to emotional instability. Alcohol will exacerbate anger. Opiates on the other hand offer a euphoric rush, followed by a feeling of peace and serenity. This was what he wanted. Reality had nothing left to offer him anymore. If he couldn't die then he needed to escape somehow. The heroin worked to suppress his anger, his hurt, better than anything he had ever tried. It replaced those feelings with something akin to enlightenment, or so he would imagined enlightenment must feel.

Bruce continued to work when he could, still moving from country to country. He would shoot up when he had the means. Ever so slowly as the months passed by, his need for heroin began to outweigh his need for food and shelter. His need to escape had long been out weighing his need to live. He slept in alleyways, abandoned buildings, whatever, he didn't really care. If he had spent all his money on drugs then he would steal enough food to keep him from starving. He found it strange and disturbing as he made his way through the world that in many poorer places, smack was more readily available that food. Bruce knew that he was well and truly addicted. He didn't care. It seemed to be that being a junkie was the best of all his possible options at the time.

As time passed, Bruce diverted his scrutinizing gaze away from his own failings and began paying more attention to the world around him. He watched as the poor starved. As the sick were deprived of the most basic of medical care. Even through the soothing haze of junk, he could still feel disgust at this sorry state of affairs. There was a time when Bruce was young and full of promise and optimism that he believed he could change the world. He couldn't do that where he was, but he could do something. He started to devote his time to helping people. He used what medical knowledge he had, which was a pretty sound base, to treat those who would otherwise be left to die. He found that in return for his help, families offered him food and a place to stay. Bruce had been using for over a year, but after he began doing some good with his life, he found the urge to get high was dissipating.


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N**  
I hope everyone is enjoying the story. I would like to apologize for any mistakes. as I am yet to find a beta.  
Please review to let me know what I'm doing right and what I'm doing wrong. Thanks:)  
I'll update ASAP. Probably a new chapter within the week.  
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It was a slow and difficult process, but Bruce slowly cut back on the heroin until he had managed to wean himself off completely. He couldn't afford to be fucked up when people were depending on his help. He still wanted it. Without it he was starting to feel that anger again, lying somewhere in the back of his consciousness. Meditation just wasn't the same, but he found that while he was helping people, he hated himself a little less. He was a little less disappointed that he wasn't dead. Every now and then, when a family he had helped hugged him and told him they would be forever grateful and opened up their home to him, he felt something close to happiness.

Then came the Avengers.  
During that time, when Black Widow hauled him off to stop a god from taking over the world, Bruce felt things he hadn't felt in a long time. He felt the joy of a kindred spirit in Tony Stark. He felt a sense of belonging. Yes, it wasn't all sunshine and lollipops. He had felt anger and he had felt fear, but all of that was negated by something he never thought he would feel. He felt for the first time like the other guy may just have a place in the world. Bruce had helped to save the world. The other guy had helped too. Bruce didn't hate himself so much by the time they had defeated Loki and his army.

Tony had made the offer for Bruce to stay in Stark Tower with him and work in R&D. He had actually invited all of the avengers to stay, offering each their own floor. Steve had accepted the offer, his animosity toward Tony replaced by an indefinable bond. Steve was eager to leave his isolation and the loneliness that came with being a man out of his own time in favour of some sort of companionship. Everyone else declined. Bruce would have liked to stay, but he couldn't feel safe in one place anymore, even with Tony's assurances that his security system was the best in the world. Bruce went back to his life of helping those most desperate, comforted by the knowledge that if he ever desired, there was a home waiting for him.

As the months passed on, Bruce's desire to take Tony up on his offer grew stronger. He found he thought about it often, usually with a smile upon his face. When he heard the news of Tony Stark's battle against Aldrich Killian, it pushed him over the edge. Bruce realized he was afraid. Even knowing that his friend was safe, hearing how close he came to harm still sent a jolt of fear through Bruce, who had carefully slowed his breathing and calmed his wildly beating heart. Bruce had friends whom he missed. He had a home waiting for him. He had to go to New York.

When Bruce showed up at Stark tower, he was welcomed by JARVIS. The AI recognized his face and opened the doors, directing Dr Banner to the elevator and to the lab in which Tony was tinkering with some unknown gadget. It took several seconds before the billionaire sensed a presence in the room and lifted his eyes from his project. They widened with surprise. Apparently JARVIS had neglected to mention Bruce was coming up.

"Brucey boy, good to see you!" Tony exclaimed, surprise turned to enthusiasm.

"Good to see you too Tony. I'm glad to see you haven't gotten yourself killed in my absence."

"Thank Pepper for that. I'm pretty sure without her I would just stay in my lab working until I collapsed in a puddle of my bodily fluids and died of thirst. Anyway, how you been?" Tony inquired, still tinkering with his experiment.

"Offer still open on staying here?"

Tony responded by yelling at dummy to take Bruce's single measly bag to his designated room.

With that, Bruce was officially a resident of Stark tower. He was given his own lab which he excitedly put to use. It had been so long since he had been able to research whatever he wanted, using the most high-tech equipment available. When he was in there he felt like a twelve-year-old who had been given his very own toy store. He came to the realization that his optimistic self, the part of him he thought dead and gone, was actually alive and thriving. It seemed he was finally getting something like the life he had dreamed for himself. Part of him still mourned the departure of Betty from his life, but he had accepted that necessary loss some time ago. He almost thought himself past his anger. His rational mind knew that it was still bubbling away somewhere beneath the surface.

It took a few weeks for the scientist to get familiar with all the tech and equipment in his lab. During this time he also enjoyed the company of his team/friends. There hadn't been an Avengers level threat since Loki, so each was busy with their own life. However everybody came by the tower often enough. Everybody seemed pleased to see Bruce. Even Natasha, in a slightly reluctant way. Of course Steve lived in the building, but he spent much of his time in his custom-built gym. He worked for the army from time to time, agreeing to help with training some of the special ops soldiers, but this was not an everyday job. Tony of course continued to work on his suit and on creating more efficient fuel sources. Thor did whatever gods do, and Natasha and Clint where always very vague about what they do when they're not at Stark tower.

Once Bruce had acquainted himself with his lab, it came time to start a serious project. He was trying to decide on what exactly he should research first when he felt a nagging pull and the edges of his mind. His optimistic self was whispering a promise of hope in his ear; what if you can fix yourself? You have the gear, you have the time, you have the safety; Bruce couldn't resist the pull. Ever since the accident he had been on the run. It was no wonder he hadn't been able to find a cure. Now though, he had everything he needed. He became absorbed in his work as the weeks passed by. That old yet familiar feeling of obsession was creeping its way to the surface. Nobody thought twice of course. Dr Banner was a scientist after was just the same. It hardly seemed amiss when he forgot to eat or sleep because his work occupied every space in his mind. Tony would come into his lab now and then and offer any help he could.

When Tony first became aware Bruce was trying to find a way to 'fix' himself, it annoyed him to say the least. He may have ranted for a while about how the big guy saved his life and how Bruce was being a moron. Bruce may have quietly ignored him while his anger and frustration built up ever so slowly. After that first time though, Tony, in a very un Tony-like way, resigned to the fact that Bruce would do what he wanted. If that was the price he paid to keep his one intellectual equal around, then fine. After that they actually started to have fun when they worked together, making the occasional small breakthrough. Mostly though, when Tony wasn't there, Bruce was just frustrated at his lack of progress. He felt hi hope slowly beginning to fade again.

After several months, Bruce was nowhere. The scientist could feel the self loathing begin to rise up again. He could feel the pain. The anger at the fact that he may never find an answer. His cravings for the best form of relief he knew had come and gone a few times throughout the years, but ever since beginning his research at Stark tower, the cravings had come back with a vengeance. At this point, he wasn't sure why he was fighting it. He was on edge, ready to snap at any point. He couldn't let that happen and risk hurting his friends and breaking yet another part of New York. He already had a good supply of needles and syringes thanks to Tony's copious amounts of any and everything remotely sciencey that was stored in the tower. On the streets of NYC, how hard would it be to find a dealer? Bruce decided he needed to go for a walk.

He had caught a cab to one of the speedier parts of the city. He had walked along the streets for a short while before coming to a corner where a young, scraggy looking man stood, keen eyes scanning the area for potential customers, finally landing on Bruce. He simply nodded, inviting Bruce to approach. The exchange was quick and easy, the dealer walking away a bit richer and Dr Banner walking away a bit closer to peace.

Not an hour later, Bruce sat in a corner in his lab. He was planning to stop by the lab to grab the needles and head to his room, but once there he found he couldn't wait. Bruce rolled up his sleeve, beginning the comfortingly familiar ritual. He tied a piece of rubber tubing around his bicep as a tourniquet, watching the veins on his left arm pop out. He noted the old scars from the last time. Very briefly he forgot the euphoria and remembered the sickness. The pain that came with trying to quit. The inability to function, stealing and sleeping in the streets just so he could remain detached from reality. Then he found a vein on his forearm, remembering how worth it would be if he could just feel the feeling he knew was coming next. He inserted the needle and depressed the plunger. The anger, the hurt, it all dissipated.

For the next few months, Bruce sunk slowly deeper into his heroin haze. At first he limited himself to times when he was particularly stressed, but it wasn't long before it was a daily undertaking. When he was high, he could do his research, not caring if he got nowhere. He could tolerate even the knowledge that he may never find a cure. When he was high he floated above such problems. He was getting thinner, which Steve noticed and queried, with the good doctor explaining that he just gets caught up in his research and forgets to eat sometimes. Bruce wasn't so thin as to be unhealthy, so the captain left it alone. Tony noticed Bruce's odd mood swings. When he was coming down from a high, reality came rushing back to him. With that came the ever intensifying self loathing at his uselessness. In those moments, his depression shone through enough for Tony to know all was not right. He was even more concerned by the detached cheer he often encountered on his journeys into Banner's lab. The others too had noted something was strange, but it was hard to place the problem when they didn't see Bruce all the time. Bruce though was thankful for his relative solitude. Luckily for him, Stark Industries paid high wages to their R&D employee that he could afford to be fucked up most of the time.

Bruce had become more careless. He and Tony often worked on projects together, which Bruce genuinely enjoyed, but it was hindering his ability to shoot up. He would say he was going to the bathroom and come back completely out of it. He was fortunate to have a brain powerful enough he could compensate, but he knew that his friend must have noticed his change in demeanor. Sometimes, more often than not now, when Bruce was working alone on his search for a way to reverse the effects of the gamma radiation, he would just shoot up in his lab. It was reckless. Anybody could walk in. It was better than waiting. He would sit on the floor with his back against a cupboard and go through the blissful, sickening ritual and ride out the high until he was coherent enough to continue working. Sometimes he didn't even remember to take the needle out until he stood up.

This was how Tony Stark found his friend, his science bro, Dr Bruce Banner, when he walked into the genius' lab to see if he wanted to go eat something; sitting/lying on the floor, barely conscious, with a needle sticking out of his arm.


End file.
